The Answer
by Dani-Ellie03
Summary: "No parents are perfect. They make mistakes." (or, Elsa, Snow, and Emma, post-"Smash the Mirror.")


**Title:** The Answer  
**Summary: **"No parents are perfect. They make mistakes."  
**Spoilers:** Post-ep for 4x08, "Smash the Mirror."  
**Characters:** Snow White, Elsa, and Emma Swan.  
**Rating/Warning: **K. Family fluff and emotional conversations ahoy.  
**Disclaimer:** _Once Upon a Time_ and its characters were created by Eddie Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I'm just playing with someone else's toys.  
**Author's Note:** Elsa has been such a wonderful friend to Emma, and I want to keep her forever and ever. This little scenelet jumped into my head and refused to leave me alone, so I figured I better get it out on paper (well, so to speak ;)) before the show canon-balls it. Feedback makes Christmas come early! Enjoy.

* * *

It wasn't every day that Snow White truly felt like Emma Swan's mom. To be perfectly honest, she felt like she'd been floundering since Neverland. All she wanted was to heal Emma's deep emotional wounds in a way that her daughter would allow but what that way was, she hadn't the foggiest notion.

In all honesty, she wanted nothing more than to hold her baby girl until all her pain went away but that wasn't what Emma needed. Snow had all kinds of ideas as to what Emma didn't need but no real idea of what she did. As such, she hadn't the first clue how to begin healing twenty-eight years' worth of abandonment and neglect.

And it utterly gutted her to admit that in her struggle, she'd been just as guilty of abandonment and neglect as any of the people in this world who'd come in contact with her daughter as she was growing up. In the attempt to figure out the right thing to say or do, she'd ended up saying and doing nothing. Her baby _needed_ her and most of the time, she had no idea how to be there for her.

But every now and then, there would be a moment when things would just fall into place. Every now and then, Snow's maternal instinct would take over and she would just be Mom, as effortlessly as breathing. And this moment right here … this was one of those moments.

It was late. The loft was quiet. Little Neal was peacefully asleep in his crib. Everyone else had fallen into bed, exhausted from both the frantic worrying and the overnight search.

Everyone but Snow, who was sitting on the couch, and Emma, who had been dozing next to her. When she had told her sleepy daughter to go on up to bed, Emma had responded by grabbing a throw pillow and curling up right then and there. To Snow's utter shock, she'd propped the pillow not against the arm of the sofa but against her mother's legs. Then she'd shut her eyes and promptly drifted off.

Snow knew that she had to get her daughter to bed for real at some point but … well, this opportunity had presented itself and she was not about to let it pass her by.

She hummed softly as she gently combed her fingers through her daughter's hair. Her poor baby was completely drained from her night in the woods, the struggle against her spiraling magic, and the emotional upheaval of the past thirty or so hours. Emotional upheaval for which Snow felt solely responsible.

They still didn't know what the Snow Queen had said to Emma; Charming had searched the rubble at the sheriff's station for the recording of the interrogation but the explosion had destroyed it. They didn't know … but Snow could guess. That witch had planted seeds of doubt in Emma's head, seeds of distrust, seeds of uncertainty and insecurity. And what Snow hated more than anything else – even more than the Snow Queen psychologically manipulating her baby – was that she herself had provided the ammunition for it.

The Snow Queen couldn't have known, of course. She couldn't have known how Snow had flinched away from Emma when she tried to take Neal for babysitting duty. She couldn't have known how Snow hadn't been able to look her own daughter in the eye. For crying out loud, she hadn't even managed a "Be careful" to her baby girl as she took off after a dangerous woman who'd pretty much been stalking her her entire life.

All Emma had wanted was some reassurance, and Snow had let her leave without saying _anything_ to her.

The Snow Queen couldn't have known, but half an hour later, Emma was in that room with her. Half an hour later, the Snow Queen was chipping away at everything Emma had desperately wanted and thought she'd finally gained. And worst of all, Snow herself had given Emma that initial seed of doubt in the first place.

She fingered the yellow ribbon tied around her sleeping daughter's wrist. What on earth did that witch want with Elsa and Emma? Wasn't it enough that she'd already had the time with Emma as a child? That witch had had moments with Emma that Snow could only dream about. Wasn't that enough?

"How in the world did _this_ happen?"

The soft but decidedly amused voice startled Snow. She looked up to find Elsa, dressed in a borrowed pair of Emma's pajamas, approaching the sofa, a smile on her face at the sight of Emma sleeping against her mother's legs. "She was ninety percent asleep when she positioned herself like this," Snow replied, giving Elsa a smile in return. "She'll turn beet red from embarrassment if she wakes up."

Elsa gave a soft chuckle at that as she eased down on the edge of the coffee table, close enough that the two of them could talk without disturbing Emma. "How come you're still awake?" Snow murmured. "It's been a very long day and a half."

"Sleep doesn't seem to be coming. I think I'm still a little wound up," Elsa admitted somewhat sheepishly. "It isn't every day I talk someone down from a ledge."

No, it certainly wasn't but Snow was so very grateful to her that she had. "Thank you, by the way. That's the second time you've saved my daughter."

Elsa gave a self-deprecating shrug. "She'd do it for me."

"You're a very good friend to her." Snow looked down at her sleeping baby girl. She brushed an errant lock of hair off Emma's forehead and smiled sadly. "I wish I could say the same about myself."

Elsa drew in a breath but remained silent. It wasn't until Snow began once again combing her fingers through Emma's hair that Elsa spoke. "I injured my sister with my magic when we were children."

Snow tore her gaze from Emma, focusing on Elsa instead. Elsa's gaze was directed at Emma but focused inward, on some painful memory that Snow couldn't see. "My parents took her to the rock trolls, who were able to heal her but in so doing removed all of her memories of my magic. Out of fear that I would again hurt her or someone else, my parents separated us and isolated me until I could learn to control my powers. They didn't understand them but the problem was, neither did I. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years."

Snow's heart broke for the young woman sitting in front of her. How lonely her childhood must have been, how frightening and isolating. After a moment of silence, Elsa raised teary eyes to Snow. "No parents are perfect. They make mistakes."

"Of course they do," Snow allowed, "but my mistakes almost drove my daughter to destroy part of herself. She was looking to me for reassurance and understanding, and I couldn't give it to her. And the worst part is, yesterday wasn't even my first mistake. I've never felt so … out of my depth before. I want to do the right thing for her but it seems like no matter what I do, it's wrong."

Again, Elsa took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Then she asked, "May I speak freely?"

Snow nodded.

"I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you to place a newborn baby into a magical wardrobe and have a grown woman returned to you. I can't imagine the loss you must feel for the time you never had with her or the confusion you must face at how to even begin fixing it. However, perhaps you're overthinking it."

"How so?"

Elsa nodded in Emma's direction. "She doesn't need you to be perfect. She doesn't need you to have every answer. All she needs from you is what every child needs from her parents. All she needs is for you to love her, all of her, just the way she is."

Tears welled in Snow's eyes. Could the answer really be that simple? Could she really have been so focused on trying to make everything better that she'd missed the opportunities for truly doing so? Maybe … maybe healing would come from the simple act of being loved. "Thank you," she whispered through a watery smile.

Elsa smiled back. "You're welcome." Then she stood and turned to go back up to bed.

"Elsa?"

She turned to face Snow. "Yes?"

"Your parents … their method may have been heavy-handed but they were trying to protect you along with everyone else. They were trying to prevent you from going through what she just did. They loved you, too."

The young woman smiled sadly. "I know. I just wish they would have shown it more." She dropped her gaze to Emma and then looked back up at Snow, her eyes full of sympathy, loss, pain, and understanding. "For her sake and for yours, don't make the same mistakes they did." Then she softly bid Snow good night and headed back up to the loft.

Left alone again with her sleeping daughter and her thoughts, Snow resumed her gentle humming. Her daughter needed _her_, not some kind of supermom, and she vowed to do her best to give her just that from now on.

Snow wasn't sure how long she sat but it was long enough that Emma began to grow uncomfortable from being curled up in a little ball. She tried to stretch out but the sofa, much like everything else in the apartment, wasn't very big. Her outstretched leg failed to come into contact with any kind of support and gravity took over instead, sending her foot to the floor and jerking her awake.

An amused Snow froze, choking back a snicker and immediately silencing her humming. She removed her fingers from her daughter's hair just as Emma sat up dazedly.

That was Snow's cue to remove the throw pillow from her legs. Her very independent, I'm-not-a-little-kid daughter would have a conniption if she realized she'd been essentially sleeping on her mother's lap. Snow was not, however, above giving Emma a gentle teasing. "Well, good evening, sleepyhead."

Emma's cheeks flushed at the nickname as she stretched and rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Late enough that you might want to consider heading to bed instead of sleeping on the couch."

"Mm."

Emma, stubborn as the day was long, did not move. Her eyes were a little unfocused, leading Snow to assume she was still half-asleep. And though she knew she should get her daughter up to bed before she fell back to sleep on the couch, some little instinct Snow didn't really understand kept her still, waiting and watching for clarity to shine in her daughter's eyes.

It wasn't mothering that Emma really needed … not at this stage of the game, anyway. No, what she really needed was support and Snow had every intention of giving it to her.

After a minute or two, Emma woke up a bit, enough that Snow felt comfortable asking, "Since you don't seem like you're planning on going to bed, even though you probably should, can we talk for a minute?"

Hesitance flashed in her baby's eyes, sending Snow's heart into her stomach. The Snow Queen had done such a number on her. When they caught the Snow Queen again, Snow wanted – no, _needed_ – just five minutes alone with her.

And yet, the reason the Snow Queen's manipulation worked so well was because the seeds of doubt were already planted in Emma's head before she even set foot in that interrogation room. As much as the Snow Queen was at fault for Emma's emotional and magical meltdown, Snow herself was, too.

And Snow was determined to fix her mistakes. Starting now.

"Yeah, I guess," Emma said, nodding after a beat of consideration.

Snow gave her a gentle smile. "When you called earlier, you said that what I'd said and done to you didn't matter." Emma opened her mouth, most likely to assure her mother that everything was fine, really, but Snow shook her head, silencing her daughter's argument before it could even begin. "It does matter, Emma. _You_ matter. Your feelings matter and I'm so sorry that I drove you away."

Emma squirmed somewhat uncomfortabl, and Snow's heart once again sank in her chest. Her daughter may not have wanted to give verbal confirmation that Snow's actions had indeed been what caused her to run but her body language had just done it for her. Not that she didn't try to deny it. "You didn't–"

"I did, and I was wrong. And I know I said earlier that I didn't want you to think that we were afraid of you but when that lamp post came down and when you were unknowingly boiling Neal's bottle ... in those moments, I was afraid. Not of you but of the power inside of you, and that was wrong, too." She held her hand out to Emma, silently praying she'd take it. Her heart leaped for joy when Emma did, squeezing tightly. "I know you would never do anything to hurt any of us. I know you love us with all your heart. And what I need you to know is this: you, Emma Swan, are my everything. You're my hope, my fire. You're my pride and joy, all of you, every single part of you that makes you my precious daughter. I'm sorry I made you feel any less than the fantastic, incredible, wonderful person you are."

Unshed tears glistened in a stunned Emma's eyes. Wordlessly, she tightened her grip on Snow's hand, then abruptly let go and threw her arms around her instead, collapsing against her like a small child who just needed her mom. "I was scared, too," she tearily whispered into Snow's ear.

In the end, it wasn't watching her daughter take off in her Bug for parts unknown that made Snow feel every ounce of guilt and failure over how she'd reacted to Emma's spiraling magic. It wasn't the endless overnight search, looking for her daughter and not knowing what she'd find. It wasn't even thinking about how close Emma had come to destroying part of herself. No, in the end, it was those four words that did it: _I was scared, too._

Her baby girl had been terrified and she'd needed her parents to reassure her, to tell her everything was going to be all right. Instead, her own mother had reacted with fear and anger, sending her off into the woods, frightened and alone and feeling like she had nowhere to go. "I'm so sorry, Emma," Snow murmured, running her hand over the back of her daughter's head. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not." Snow pulled out of the embrace to look her daughter in the eye. "It's not okay. I failed you, Emma. When you needed me, I wasn't there for you."

"But you were when it mattered most," Emma said, sniffling back tears and smiling. "You tracked me down and found me at the house, didn't you?"

And finally, Snow was able to see what she couldn't before. Emma hadn't been insisting it was okay because she was simply trying to be agreeable. She was, in fact, acknowledging Snow's mistake … and telling her she was forgiven.

Snow cupped her precious baby girl's cheek in her palm. Her precious, amazing, wonderful daughter, who had found the strength to embrace her powers. Her precious, amazing, wonderful daughter, who had returned home. "I love you, sweetheart. All of you, just the way you are."

Then Emma said something Snow would treasure as long as she lived: "I love you, too, Mom."

_Elsa was right_, Snow thought as she gathered her daughter into an embrace. She didn't need to have all the answers. She simply needed to give her daughter love … because love was the answer.


End file.
